


Finest

by sybarite1



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Cop!Graves, First Time, M/M, Sexual Inexperience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:58:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9169618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sybarite1/pseuds/sybarite1
Summary: Credence turns his face until he can press his open mouth against Graves’ fingers.  He is artless, but he wants.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Credence is canonically an adult, the same is true in this fic.

 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Graves is murmuring as he starts with the button at the top of Credence’s collar.  The boy’s head jerks in a nod, inhaling sharply when Graves strokes two fingers down the tiny patch of bared skin.  He ratchets up with tension as more buttons come undone.

“Let me see your wrists.”

They are presented, insides up, for Graves’ blunt fingers to work the buttons at his shirt cuffs.  Hot hands slide up Credence’s bare torso to his shoulders and push his shirt and jacket off.  Always too large, they slip easily to the floor.  It is not cold in the room, but Credence shivers anyway.  He fixes his eyes on Graves’ tie, still immaculate, and stands passively while he is undressed.  When Credence is fully unclothed; his skin goosefleshed from the gentle slide of Graves’ hands drawing his Y-Fronts down his flanks, Graves steps back to look at him.

“You’re lovely,” he says, like he’s stating a fact Credence should take at face value.  The boy’s eyes close like it hurts to hear.  His hands ball up as the flush of his cock betrays his pleasure.  Graves steps into his space.  A big hand cradles Credence’s jaw.  Graves dips his head and presses chaste kisses against the edge of his mouth, the hot skin of his cheek.  Up close the man smells like cologne and cigarette smoke.  His hand smells like gunpowder.

Credence turns his face until he can press his open mouth against Graves’ fingers.  He is artless, but he wants.

Graves undoes the button on his suit jacket as he moves to sit on the bed.  It is a habitual gesture, so male, so _adult_.  Credence isn’t sure why it weakens his knees but he is glad when Graves draw him down.  Seated up against the headboard, his hair perfect, his dress shoes gleaming against his bed linens, he looks like something out of a magazine.  Credence is going to rumple his three-piece suit, he is sure of it, but Graves’ expression suggests he is looking forward to it.

Graves’ hands are warm against Credence’s ribs as he pulls him to straddle his lap.  The man’s mouth parts and he licks his lower lip, tips his head to take in the flush on Credence’s face, the way his eyes squeeze shut as the wool of Graves’ trousers rubs against his vulnerable skin.  They haven’t even kissed yet.

“Credence,” he says softly, “you can touch.”

It takes a few seconds for Credence to unclench his fists and move them from his thighs.  They settle, light and long-fingered, on Graves’ shoulders.

“Can I?” He asks. 

Graves nods even though Credence doesn’t have it in him to elaborate.  Whatever it is, he seems willing to take it.  Credence’s weight settles more fully at Graves’ shoulders as he leans in and pushes his face at Graves’ for a hesitant kiss.  Graves opens his mouth to the wet press of it; it is a messy kiss, childlike and unpracticed.  His blood hums.

Graves lets his eyes close and kisses back for a while.  The boy’s fingers curl to hold his suit lapels and his weight shifts in Graves’ lap as he begins to rock his hips.  When Graves gets a hand around Credence’s cock he jolts forward and moans into the kiss.

“Is it ok?” he checks.  The boy buries his face in Graves’ neck and whines.

“Credence,” he says firmly, “you have to tell me.”

“Yes.”  He breathes heavily against Graves’ pulse.  “Yes, _please_.”

His hand is big on Credence’s cock, slippery with the boy’s enthusiasm.  He strokes as evenly as he can, given Credence’s staccato thrusts.  The boy rocks Graves’ hand into his own arousal, hot and achingly hard through layers of clothing but easy enough to ignore for now.  He slides his other hand to the small of Credence’s back, not guiding him, just feeling him move.  It doesn’t last long.

When Credence comes his breath hitches in a sob, and he spills onto Graves’ fine clothing.  Graves kisses his shoulder, his neck, his mouth when Credence finally shows his face.  He is flushed all the way down to his chest and his lips look swollen. 

Graves parts his legs so Credence can kneel in the v of them.  He murmurs unhappily when he sees the mess he made and bends forward to put his mouth against the sodden front of Graves’ trousers.  It’s so unexpected that Graves fights not to thrust forward.  
  
“Jesus,” he mutters, combing a hand gently through Credence’s hair so he knows nothing is wrong.  The boy’s tongue is a flat, wet press against his cock as he cleans up his come.  Graves gets light-headed just watching him.  The upside from being so sheltered from sex, he supposes, is not knowing when you do something kinky.  When Credence is satisfied, he sits up and puts his hand against Graves’ cock, he gropes it through the wet fabric and bites his lip when it twitches in its confines.

“Must I take it out?” he asks.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Graves says stoically.  He’ll come in his pants if he has to.  Or in the shower later.

“Can I?” Credence says, again.  Graves nods and is rewarded with the rasp of his zipper.  Credence shifts closer and reaches into his underwear.  He makes a low sound when he closes his hand around the heft of Graves’ cock, and draws it out.  He strokes it awkwardly but eagerly, eyes never leaving it as he tortures Graves with the arrhythmic clutch of his hand.

“Like this?” He asks.  He spares a glance for Graves’ face before returning, fascinated, to watch his cock.

“Yes.” Graves lies, “Just like that.”  He’s been waiting long enough that it won’t matter.

Credence’s mouth tips into a smile.  Graves grits his teeth and rides it out, relieved when he comes and horribly aroused all over again when Credence licks his hand clean.

“Ok?” he asks Credence.

“We taste different.”  

He sighs and reaches for the boy.  Pulls him close and holds him. 

“Was that ok?” He asks again.

“It was good.”  Credence shudders against him like he’s remembering it all and he likes it.  He twists in Graves’ loose hold until he can lean in for a kiss, but stops just shy.  A renewed blush floods his face as he considers where his mouth has been and that Graves may not want to kiss him.

Graves closes the distance himself. 

 

* * *

fin.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a riff off of 'New York's Finest' - a common nickname for the NYPD. This is smut from a Cop!Graves headcanon that I'm too lazy to write. But, you know, NYC Detective Don't-Call-Me-Percival Graves is a nice thought. The vocabulary of this fic means it does not read as very American-sounding, also something I'm too lazy to fix. Alas.


End file.
